


and home will feel like home again

by eversincewefellapart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Frottage, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:19:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eversincewefellapart/pseuds/eversincewefellapart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Derek had slipped the ring onto Stiles’ finger five years ago, when Stiles was still asleep, and had then watched the boy snore softly and peaceful, knowing that as soon as he’d wake he’d scrub his eyes, notice the ring and be anything but peaceful for days to come. It was possibly a bit stuck-up of Derek to think Stiles would accept, no doubt, but he had, in the end, snot-nosed and flushed-faced, warm hands buried in Derek’s hair, kissing him over and over, between his frantic, confused words.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	and home will feel like home again

**Author's Note:**

> This has sat in my gdocs for about a month, fully-finished, and today I finally read it over and American-picked it (?)/fixed all the errors I could find and here it is. The feelings sort of ran away from me, oops. But nonetheless, I really hope you enjoy it! <3

~

When Derek wakes up on a Sunday morning, it’s to someone warm in his arms, a faceful of soft hair, and the alarm he set on his cell phone for this day wailing.

All in all, it’s really not a bad way to wake up. Not at all.

After he nuzzles his face into the back of Stiles’ neck once, smelling the shampoo he used to wash their hair with last night and feeling warm at the memory (--he doesn't remember when every single little thing he did with Stiles became a happy memory he cherishes, no matter how small or silly it seemed-- feeling everything he ever felt about this boy rush through his veins and make him lightheaded), before he slowly unwraps an arm from around Stiles and reaches behind himself to swipe his fingertip over the vibrating screen of his cell.

They’ve got things to do today, no doubt, as Ella has invited a few friends over for a playdate, and they probably have to get snacks and toys ready, but he decides that they can sneak in a few more moments of peaceful sleep. It’s why he tries to discreetly wrap his arm back around Stiles without waking him up, but it’s too late, as when he reaches forward Stiles is already blinking awake.

“Hmph,” Stiles mumbles, face pressed into his pillow, before he slowly shuffles onto his back. He lets his head loll to the side, his bleary, sleep-threaded eyes meeting Derek’s, and _oh_ \-- his cheeks are flushed, and he’s smiling lazily, and his hair is sticking up in odd little tufts.

Derek loves him so much it hurts sometimes; more often than not.

It’s usually at times like these that he gets this small, possessive feeling inside of him, and now it’s what makes him reach out to slip his fingers through Stiles’, weak from the sleep still coursing through his body, Stiles’ ring brushing against the inside of his palm.

His _ring_.

Derek’s eyes drop from Stiles’ sleep-soft face, to down where their hands are entwined, Stiles squeezing back lightly, and he sees the gold band on his finger, and that possessive feeling multiplies by nearly tenfold, and he’s pulling Stiles into him again, kissing the delicate skin before his ear.

“You’re handsy today,” Stiles chuckles, but he doesn't oppose to it. The opposite, really; he stretches himself out, pushing his cheek out when Derek arches his neck to plant a kiss onto it as well, like he’s a greedy cat that’s preening under Derek’s full attention. Knowing him, he probably is. “Good morning.”

“Hmm,” Derek hums, nosing along his jaw. His arms find their spot round Stiles’ waist again, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of his hips where his sleep shirt has ridden up. “Morning.”

He can feel the muscles in Stiles’ cheek move, probably as he smiles. “Y’know, I love you like this big kitten you’ve become at the moment, but we really should be getting up.”

Derek makes a growling noise, low in his throat, but just like how Derek knows Stiles like the back of his hand at this point, Stiles knows Derek even more. “That doesn't scare me,” he sing-songs gleefully.

Derek bites his skin lightly, teasing, and his hands smooth up Stiles’ sides, fingers slipping under his shirt. At the first tickle, Stiles is yelping and throwing an arm over the side of the bed, trying to get away. His attempt to flee doesn’t work, though, as Derek quickly grabs his other arm with his free hand, pinning him down and tickling low on his belly.

He can tell Stiles is trying to keep it in so Ella won't wake, but when Derek’s fingers skim over the dip of his waist, he bursts out, laughing so hard his pleas for Derek to stop are smothered into helpless, hiccuping gasps.

“Der-- please--” he wheezes thinly, screwing his eyes shut. His mouth is in that lovely and erotic bright cherry colour it falls into when he licks over it and he’s smiling so wide his nose scrunches up and Derek can see his tongue. He wonders if this is an okay time to stop and dip down, whisper _I’m sorry I love you so much forgive me you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me_. He knows Stiles wouldn't chastise him for being a sap, probably just cradle him close as he tries to suck in a few breaths, but instead he buries those feelings away for another day and stills his hands, letting Stiles catch his breath.

“We--” he pants, pointing a weak, accusatory finger up at Derek, “we still have to get up, this doesn't get you out of that-- get those fingers of yours away from me or I’ll cut them, I _swear_ \-- okay, maybe not, because they’re useful sometimes I like them inside of--”

Derek leans back on his haunches and gives him an amused look, that’s probably mostly disgusting fondness, before leaning back on his haunches. “Pull yourself together, Stiles. We’re having guests today.”

Stiles makes a truly affronted and ridiculous squawking noise, pushing himself up on his elbows. He’s still flushed-face and beautiful as ever. “ _What_ did you-- oh, hell no, Hale, you are not playing the innocent card here--”

Derek gives him another smile as he pushes himself off the bed, standing up straight and stretching, feeling that satisfying moment as his limbs seem to fall into place from how they went liquid-y from sleep. He sneaks a glance at Stiles, who has that same dry, wide-eyed look like he did all those years ago, when Derek first showed off his bare torso to him, like he can’t believe it’s _real_ ; that it’s _his_.

He told Derek so much a few years ago, admitted how sometimes, he can’t believe it, when they had come home with Ella cuddled to Derek’s chest. Said how sometimes he can’t really believe what they went through was real, can’t believe the current moment was real, can’t believe that Derek and him-- are an _actual, real_ thing. It was a sheepish admission, with a bit of his normal, boyish wonder, and Derek’s heart had threatened to burst out his chest, honestly.

His thoughts are broken when Stiles slaps a hand against the comforter, and he glances back at him again.

“Aren't you even going to give me a good morning kiss, or something? Those are, like, mandatory.”

“After you wash up,” Derek tells him, smiling at Stiles’ dramatic exhale. “C’mon, you were the one who said we should get up, anyway.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but he’s beginning to push himself up and knee to the edge of the bed, swinging a leg over the side and standing up. Derek watches him stretch, before heading out of the bedroom and down the hall.

He makes it to Ella’s room and slowly twists the doorknob, pushing the door open to peer inside. She’s laying on her side, back towards him, but he sees her body rise and fall gently with her sleep-induced breaths, and he can feel his eyes go fond, mouth twist up into another smile, and _dammit_ , he used to be the king of stony, emotionless faces, and now he’s probably an open book to even the densest fellow.

He closes the door again and scratches his elbow as he heads downstairs, yawning. He supresses a shiver as his bare foot touches onto the cool hardwood of the downstairs level, before making his way to the kitchen, reaching up to open the cabinet above the sink and grab the coffee filters.

As he prepares the coffee machine, he hears the subdued noises of Stiles’ bustling around upstairs, no doubt trying to keep quiet yet just making more of a racket. He glances out of the kitchen to the base of the staircase, seeing it bare, before stepping back to the coffee machine and placing the cup underneath the nozzle.

As soon as it begins to work, there’s a loud yelp, and then Stiles’ is yelling _sorry!_ , before opening up a door upstairs. He can hear his hushed voice mingling with Ella’s sleepy one, and decides that he’ll probably have to start breakfast for the three of them.

He pulls the box of frozen pancakes from the freezer with the lull of the coffee machine in the background, tearing the top open just as Stiles’ hobbles down the stairs, bent down a bit awkwardly, holding Ella’s hand in his. She’s rubbing over her left eye and yawning, other hand fidgeting with the hem of her pyjama top, a low pink colour with white stars sprinkled around its expanse.

She brightens up when she sees Derek, and with a _‘Papa!’_ she’s slipping her hand from Stiles’ and toddling over to him, her eyes bright, a wide smile-- similar to Stiles’ intoxicatingly bright one-- on her face. He gives her a soft smile and bends down, outstretching his arms and letting her collide into them, tossing her arms around his neck and squealing like it’s been forever since she’s last seen him.

He, in turn, rubs her back slowly and says ‘good morning, Ellie,’ and Stiles pouts playfully, says _‘Daddy doesn't get a warm hug?’_ and she pulls back to look at him matter-of-factly, telling him _‘you already got one, but it’s ‘kay, I’ll give you one more’_ before toddling back over to him. Stiles will give Derek a wink over her slim shoulder, mouthing she loves me more and Derek will give him an impressing raise of his eyebrows in return.

It’s been like this for nearly four years, but God, he hasn't gotten enough of it, and probably never will.

~

Derek had slipped the ring onto Stiles’ finger five years ago, when Stiles was still asleep, and had then watched the boy snore softly and peaceful, knowing that as soon as he’d wake he’d scrub his eyes, notice the ring and be anything but peaceful for days to come. It was possibly a bit stuck-up of Derek to think Stiles would accept, no doubt, but he had, in the end, snot-nosed and flushed-faced, warm hands buried in Derek’s hair, kissing him over and over, between his frantic, confused words.

The house came a little while after they got married, a lovely but not-exactly-little place that was moderately new, built to slightly resemble a victorian, in a more peaceful part of town. He and Stiles had looked at only a few places before it, but it was like-- it was that instant connection that happens sometimes, when an individual is lucky enough to have it, that had happened between them and the structure, and they’d immediately been attracted to it. Stiles had been a funny one to watch as they’d signed the purchase agreement; huffing in pride that they had already found the perfect place.

Moving in together was surprisingly easy, and at the beginning, the Sheriff would drop by to check up on them regularly, give Stiles an affectionate ruffle of the hair, give Derek a look that was a mix between a glare reading _‘damn you for stealing my son’_ and a soft expression reading _‘thank you for making him happy’_  until his visitations lowered to around once a month on a fixed day after he walked into the house as Derek and Stiles were in the foyer, just narrowly avoiding the sight of Derek pressing his cock between Stiles’ soft, swollen lips, Stiles flushed and spit-streaked, sucking him eagerly. It-- had been awkward. So awfully awkward, in a way the three of them decided they’d never want to experience again, thus setting up certain times for the Sheriff to come over.

Slowly slowly, everything had started falling into place after that. It was then, when they decided that everything seemed to be taken care of, that they started thinking about a child to bring in the picture.

“I mean-- like, if you don't wanna, that’s totally cool,” Stiles had fumbled out the first time it came up, the television playing in the background, his feet propped up in Derek’s lap. “But recently, I’ve been thinking.”

The days that followed had Derek stuck in a child-induced haze; nearly everywhere he went reminding him of Stiles’ words. The snack aisles at the grocery store, with T.V. character gummies and the toy stores at the mall and fathers carrying their child at the fair and their home, with its wide yard and its extra bedrooms and bright interior. And that was how Ella had happened, and really, sometimes it’s hard to realize that this is _his_ life now, _their_ life, and it’s _actually_ perfect.

~

“Daddy,” Ella says, and Derek watches her tip her head back to look up at Stiles innocently, fingers sticky with the syrup from her pancakes, cheeks in no better state. “I need a tissue.”

“Looks like you do,” Stiles muses, “and a wet one at that.” He looks over his shoulder to Derek in the kitchen. “Be a doll, Papa, and fetch her one?” he attempts in the strangest British accent.

Derek has a few words to tell Stiles sternly, but then the both of them are blinking at him expectantly, dimples in their cheeks, and they look endearing and ridiculous and Derek can’t say no. “Well, of course,” he says back, in an accent worse than Stiles’ one.

Stiles seems pleased with this reply, and turns back towards the table, sticking his fork back into his pancakes. Derek grabs a napkin from the roll and dampens it lightly with water from the sink, before heading over to Ella.Ella’s legs dangle from her chair and she swings them back and forth, tilting her head to the side so Derek will have an easier time of cleaning her up, before holding her hands out for him.

He makes quick work of cleaning her up, pushing himself back up when she’s all clean again, before picking up her empty so he can take it over to the sink. Stiles gives him a smirk over the brim of his mug before he does so, though, a victorious one, and he scowls meaninglessly at him before stepping back into the kitchen.

“Ella,” he hears Stiles say, “if you’re done with breakfast, you can go and get yourself ready.”

He looks back just as Ella says _thank you for breakfast, Papa_ , and slowly helps herself onto the floor, before she’s running to the staircase. It’s not long before there are arms around Derek’s mid-torso, Stiles pressing himself against his side and cuddling into him.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he sighs.

“Not a problem,” Derek replies, drying his hands off before wrapping his arm round Stiles’ waist, dropping a kiss to the crown of his head. “And honestly, we should be getting ready as well.

“They’re kids in senior kindergarten,” Stiles grumbles, but pulls back anyway, looking up at Derek with a considerate look. “What do you think they want?”

“Snacks?”

Stiles fixes him with a _Duh_ face. “Obviously, Einstein. But like, game-wise. What do kindies play?” He curls his index finger underneath his mouth, narrowing his eyes. “It’s tough to understand what kids like. It’s either Barbie dolls and Candyland board games, or the newest version of Halo at the moment, which could be Halo 300, y’know?”

“I do know, but I doubt they want Halo. They will if you put the idea in their minds, though, so be careful.” He crosses his arms over his chest, pursing his lips. “They probably just want to play outside, and juice boxes when they get tired.”

“That sounds easy. Too easy, if you ask me, but I’ll go with it.” Stiles spins on his heel and stalks out of the kitchen, calling out “but if it goes wrong, the blame is all on you, babe!”

Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles when he glances back with a smirk, but really-- he’d take the blame in a heartbeat if Stiles wanted it so.

~

A while later, when the sun is high in the sky and light is sweeping through the iced patio doors, Stiles is ushering a small group of kids through the living room as Derek leans by the doorway, speaking with their parents. None of them are all that familiar, minus the times he’s seen them at parent-teacher meetings, but they all seem nice enough that Derek can relax, the stiffness that had found its way into his bones seeping out.

He bids farewell to the parents when they arrange a time to come and pick their children back up, before gently closing the door and sighing, letting his forehead thump against the doorframe.

“You alright?” comes Stiles’ voice, from behind him, and when he looks back, Stiles is standing behind him with wide eyes, hands full of Crayola packages. His hair is ruffled, and the sunlight swathes him in a gold colour, and he’s just-- really, the greatest thing Derek’s ever seen. It’s ridiculous.

“Yeah, m’great,” he smiles, and Stiles’ eyebrows raise, as if he hasn't seen that grin a handful of times nowadays. Derek steps over to him from the door, holding his hands out so Stiles can drop the crayons into them. “I’ll take these outside. You can go and have a seat.”

“Me? Having a seat? Like chilling?  Alone? Do you not know me yet, or--” he’s cut off when Derek leans down the slightest bit and kisses him, soft and slow. He can feel Stiles’ sharp, attentive stance lilt the slightest bit as his hands slide up Derek’s arms, stilling on his biceps and squeezing. Derek is suddenly hyper-aware of Stiles’ half-hard clothed cock pressing against him, and he breaks apart from him, glancing down with a self-satisfied smirk. “Already?”

“Shut up,” Stiles scowls, squeezing his bicep again for good measure. “You didn't give me that chance in bed, and didn't even take a fricking shower with me! What do you expect?”

“Stamina,” Derek whispers, leaning down to peck Stiles’ cheek, remembering the damn crayons clasped in one of his hands. “You’re always bragging about how you’re younger than me, so you should at least back it up.”

Stiles lets out a ridiculously affronted gasp as Derek pats his shoulders and heads out to the patio, gripping the crayons tightly. He greets the kids and tells them that if they need anything they can just call him or Stiles, ruffles Ella’s hair and then heads back towards the house. He can see from the doors that Stiles isn't where Derek left him, and really, he didn't expect it, but it would have been nice.

He glances around, sighing, wondering where his boy could have toddled off to, when hands are wrapping around his left arm and tugging him from the doors and deeper into the house, pulling him back until they go sprawling over the couch.

 _That’s_ where his boy is-- was. Now he’s underneath Derek, smiling wide, cheeks a bit flushed. He reaches up and wraps his arms around Derek’s neck loosely, pulling him down to kiss again, and Derek goes willingly, keeping himself held up over Stiles. Their mouths press together, slicker from the first time, and Stiles moans happily when Derek licks into his pliant mouth, sliding a hand up into his hair.

Derek’s content like this, with the warm, firm feeling of Stiles’ underneath him, his wet mouth against his, but then Stiles is hitching his hips up, letting his cock rub against Derek’s own, which has also began to harden at some point, and he shivers, mouth slowing on Stiles’, who pulls back just enough to attach his warm lips to Derek’s neck, still running a hand through the back of his hair.

Derek idly thinks about shoving just the waistbands of their sweat pants down, spitting in his palm to make the slide easier, but the patio doors are still open and there are kids that could come in and very easily see them in this current state, but the biggest factor is Stiles’ mouthing hotly at his neck, rutting against him rougher now, moaning against his heated skin.

He thrusts his own hips too this time, meeting Stiles’ sloppy upward ones, and Stiles lifts his hips enough for Derek’s clothed cock to press in between his legs, nudging against the heat of Stiles’ hole, and that’s how Stiles comes, muffling his desperate moan into Derek’s hot skin, rocking his hips slowly until he’s shivering and sinking back into the couch, too much stimulation. Derek puffs a hot breath against his burning cheek as Stiles slowly reaches in between them to get his hand onto where Derek’s cock is tenting his sweats, palming over him gently, until he too is coming with a shudder.

They pant against each others mouths when they regain a bit of their energy back and can tip their heads back again, and Stiles drags his hands from Derek’s hair, ruffling it up best he can ( _“It’s always on purpose,”_ he’d told Derek one night, matter-of-factly, _“because I enjoy annoying you.”_ It doesn't annoy him anymore) before pulling his hands back, cradling Derek’s cheeks to kiss him hard.

“You haven't shaved today,” he mumbles into his mouth, and Derek nods, blindly, because Stiles’ mouth just has an affect on him. “Tonight. Wanna feel this between my thighs.”

Derek’s mouth drops open, making for a very messy kissing experience that has Stiles giggling dopily when he pulls back. “You’re older than me, remember, you should be able to handle some dirty talk.”

Derek rolls his eyes, reaching a hand down when he’s made sure he can keep himself up with one arm, and squeezes Stiles’ thigh. “I _can_ , you brat, but you’re--”

He swears he’s about to get out something biting; something cunning, but then there’s a noise coming from outside that sounds suspiciously like something hitting the floor, and a scream of _papa!_ , and Derek thinks he won't be able get to say what he wanted to for a while.

He clambers off of Stiles, calling out that he’s coming as he adjusts the waistband of his sweats, cursing under his breath when he sees the damp spots leaking through. Stiles smirks at it, giving him a lazy, satisfied look.

“Better get going, huh, papa,” he says, raising his brows, and he’s gotten good at it. Derek likes to think that he gave him that annoying trait.

Derek grumbles, but a moment later he’s still rushing up the stairs to their bedroom, changing his sweats as fast as he can. When he makes his way back downstairs, though, he sees Stiles’ pants tossed onto the floor, his spot on the couch empty. He warily makes his way to the patio, glancing outside to see Stiles in a pair of gym shorts, probably from his gym bag inside the foyer closet, calming down one of Ella’s friends, who’s dropped her teddy bear in the grass, damp from the rain last night.

Derek leans against the frame of the door, feeling himself go all soft and fond at the sight. A moment later, Stiles is glancing up at him and giving him a smile, but it’s not feisty or wicked, it’s happy and sweet, and fuck. Derek really fucking loves him, this amazing boy. And he’s truly, genuinely _happy_ now, like he hasn't been in so long, and it’s lovely.

He never imagined this for himself, but now, he really wouldn't want anything else.


End file.
